


The Check Up

by palomino333



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Gore, Cold War, Cyborgs, Dieselpunk, Doctors & Physicians, Gen, Medical Procedures, Soviet Union
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 03:11:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19054060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palomino333/pseuds/palomino333
Summary: "We were once miracles, but now we are machines." In a dieselpunk alternate Cold War era, a Soviet doctor takes care of several transhumans.





	The Check Up

"Welcome back to Castle Toska, Doctor Kozel." The warmth that was typical of a relieved human being came out as a croak, and a cough of dust. Oksana noted quietly, her scarf kept to her mouth, that Kamil's throat was bothering him again. Self-consciously, he beat his hand, the palm, middle, and ring finger forged from bronze, against his chest. The iron clanged as it was thumped. "Forgive me, I have been trying to clean my ventilation out, as you have ordered, but the dampness of our living area has made that difficult to abide by."

She sighed, removing her gloves, and taking off her cap to place on the hook nearby. The servants' entrance was quite dingy and low-ceilinged. Much to her disgust, she could hear the telltale squeak of mice beneath the floorboards. "Understandable, then. What patients have I tonight?"

Kamil folded his hands behind his back, and motioned for her to follow him. "Tatyana has been complaining about her shoulder. She thinks it's a roach, but as you well know, she hates touching them. Aleksandr and Danica roughhoused too much, and now both of their faces are cracked. Jansa is tending to them in the meantime."

Oksana smiled, breaking into his report. "Then it's a good thing I thought to bring sweets in my medical bag with me."

Kamil smiled back as far as his mechanical mouth allowed him to do so. It fell, however, as he continued, "As for the larger group, they are resting in the Red Room, and are waiting for you."

Oksana's smile fell, and she swept past him, her medical bag bouncing heavily against the side of her leg. The medical red cross on the sleeve of her white lab coat gleamed as she emerged into the main hall. She winced as the metal tools within slammed against her ankle, and shut her eyes against the bright light of the chandelier. "You've all moved them again?"

"The common consensus was that they wished to be closer to the stars," Kamil responded with a touch of defensiveness, remaining in the sloped doorway of the foyer, "They do have needs outside of merely being tuned like machines."

Oksana turned back to him, her shoulders lowering. Bowing her head, she replied, "I meant no disrespect, but if you continue to move them, whether it is with their consent or otherwise, it will be detrimental to their health."

Emerging into the foyer, Kamil jammed his hands into the pockets of his waistcoat, and stared up at the flying buttress above them. "I understand, but to repeat myself, that is not their only concern."

The doctor scowled at that. "You would rather they fall apart?"

Kamil sighed, lowering his head. "We are rusting apart here, anyway."

Opting to change the subject, she turned her head away. "Where are the children? The nursery?"

Kamil nodded. "The north tower. Tatyana is in the mirrored hall again." Lifting a candelabra from the side table, he walked up a few stairs before turning back to look at her. "You must forgive us for the state of our trappings. Our dusting schedule has slipped in the damp weather," he waved the candelabra to indicate the hanging cobwebs. She couldn't help but smile at how he considered decorum to be a major issue, and followed him up the stairs.

"Ah, Doctor, a pleasure to see you again!" Jansa's sandpapery voice greeted her as she emerged into the nursery. The older woman sat upon an old rocking chair, her replacement feet trailing out from beneath the long skirt she wore. Her silver hair was tied back in an immaculate bun, giving Oksana full view of the pistons spinning on either side of her head in a hypnotic motion.

Aleksandr, the right side of his face badly cracked, especially around the eye, which glowed blue, rolled a ball back and forth between his hands. Danica lay on her stomach, her legs kicking in the air behind her as she read from a picture book. Oksana hesitated for a moment at the sight of the little girl, her face cracked and fragmented so badly about the eyes that the internal gears and green optics shown bare beneath long brown hair. "Dr. K!" The children exclaimed simultaneously, dropping what they had to dart over to her, and tug on her lab coat. Jansa looked on with a smile, but Oksana could tell that it was strained, the wrinkles standing out as if daring her to be repulsed, and make a mistake.

Spiting the old woman, she knelt, and placed her medical bag upon the floor. Her hand on each cold, metal shoulder, she informed them, "I've brought you both a special surprise, but you two have to be good. Can you do that for me?" They nodded eagerly, following her about the room, and tugging on her sleeve as they barraged her with questions about the outside world. Piling up the nursery's pillows into makeshift beds, she made each of them groan when she ordered them to lie down, and be still. Jansa rose from her chair, and limped over to keep an eye on the children as Oksana dug through her bag.

"How did this happen?" Oksana asked, her blue eyes flicking up at Jansa from behind her surgical mask. A can of light rose-colored paint stood beside her, as did a buffer. She held a small welding torch. Lowering it over Aleksandr's side, she caused him to giggle from the heat. She paused, shutting off the torch, and held a finger to her lips.

Jansa shrugged. "They're kids. They play."

"They damage themselves," Oksana waved a hand at Danica, her voice taking on a note of irritation, "The state can't take them in, now. As mechanically enhanced orphans, they would be too difficult to care for, you know that. You're all they have here. You must take care of them."

Jansa shook her head in annoyance. "We've had this conversation multiple times, Doctor. I walk on metal feet. I can't keep up like a human can."

"They're feet that move more quickly and carry greater loads than human feet. That's more your imagination talking, than much else," Oksana replied sharply, her torch flaring back to life as Aleksandr settled back down, "Look what it is costing you."

Jansa frowned at that, tucking her shawl more closely about her shoulders. "We own this castle thanks to the generosity the state has afforded we trans-humans. I cannot see the cost, only the benefit. We are cared for, we are out of sight, and we are out of mind."

"Not quite out of mind. The populace is uneasy, knowing that trans-humans are still loose," Oksana replied simply as with surgical precision she welded shut the cracks around Aleksandr's eye, which flicked down to watch her work in wonderment. "We already have enough to worry about, though if the Americans do pull the trigger, we'll all be walking masses of fused muscle and metal."

"You don't like us, do you?" Danica asked quietly.

Oksana glanced up, and paused. "I like you," she replied comfortingly.

Danica shook her head, and drew her hand over her face, "Not when you see how I look underneath." She sighed, her damaged lubricant ducts disallowing her to simulate crying. "I don't look like you, but," her fists clenched and unclenched, "I look like one of my dollies when I'm fixed up." She turned her head away, and stared at the dolls that sat quietly against the far wall. "Dr. K, I have a gift for you."

Oksana raised her eyebrow. "What is it, child?"

"It's not much, but it's the bow one of my dollies has. It's blue, like your eyes." She turned her head back to her caretaker. "Jansa, can you get it for me?" Nodding, the old woman rose, and limped away. Oksana smiled at Danica before focusing her attention back upon her work, hoping that Aleksandr wouldn't budge. Danica merely stared back at her, though the relaxed rise and fall of her chest indicated that she was trying to sleep. Oksana dropped her gaze, and dared not stare any longer at the disturbing sight.

Tatyana's fan chopped at the air. Incense burned in a vain attempt to mask the odor of the smoke that was rising from the furnace built into her chest, her top tugged up to her breasts to make room for it to breathe. Turning her head, she greeted the doctor with, "Oh, it's you again."

As she moved past the mirrors, and toward her patient, Oksana became conscious of the spots of grease and blood upon her cheeks and lab coat from the repair work she had conducted in the nursery. Considering how Aleksandr and Danica had taken off after their operation, she doubted little that she would be returning soon.

"Yes, it's me, come to clean the bugs from your system," Oksana replied in annoyance. Tatyana's eyebrow twitched, and she put up her fan at such vulgarity. The doctor hated the heaviness of this room, and the constant thrum of the furnace in Tatyana's stomach. Worse, still, was the sheer contempt the seated woman held for her. The others in the castle held it too, she knew, but Tatyana was the most candid about it.

Dropping her hands in the pockets of her lab coat, she commented, "Perhaps it is the incense that draws the bugs."

Tatyana's furnace flared as she grimaced at her, and tucked a dark strand of her bobbed hair behind her ear. "Would you rather smell the sulfur from my chest?" Hanging an arm over the back of her chair, she hissed, "If the sight of this room offends you so much, Kozel, then get on with what you must do."

Kneeling beside her medical bag, Oksana tugged out a pair of pliers. Folding her arms above the furnace and turning away, Tatyana muttered bitterly, "I bet they have less barbaric methods in America."

Oksana shrugged as she carefully dug her pliers into Tatyana's shoulder joint, and felt around for the stray roach. "You could try to move there, I suppose, but would it even be worth it?" She swung her gaze up to meet the older woman's, her one amber eye tracing over and locking onto the doctor. "At least here you have the ability to live on your own."

"To be forgotten with the other old models," Tatyana hissed bitterly. She scowled as Oksana motioned for her to release the catch upon her shoulder plate. Gently lowering the plate to the side table, the doctor nodded as she caught sight of the pest, stuck in-between the pistons that allowed her patient locomotion. Carefully, she stuck in her pliers, and dragged out the wriggling body. Tatyana's face drew up in disgust at the creature's appearance. Lowering the pliers to the table, the roach still trapped within, Oskana picked up a small hammer, and broke it. "And to be picked upon by bugs," she muttered bitterly as the doctor assisted her with replacing her shoulder plating.

"Tugging out roaches would be the least of your problems, if you went to America," Oksana replied tiredly, having had this conversation with her patient multiple times prior, "The circuses and freak shows would be the place for you. Sure, you may be adored on the stage for a time, but the scrap heap would be soon to follow."

"We're left to rust in a castle!" Tatyana exclaimed, stomping her foot for emphasis.

With a sigh, Oksana brushed the strands of stray blonde hair that had tumbled into her eyes out of the way. "Would you rather be melted down?"

Tatyana lowered her eyes, and clenched her fists in her lap. "I'm better now, doctor, thank you," she murmured. Opening her handbag, she slid a coin over to her. Oskana, thanking her, quickly departed, leaving her to her loneliness.

Pausing just before the curtain to the Red Room, Oksana took a deep breath, and squared her shoulders. Turning back to Kamil, who stood sentinel beside her, she hissed, "You move them again after this, and I will report you. Do you understand me correctly?"

Kamil gravely nodded, the flame of the candles casting an eerie glow over his metallic face. Disquieted by the image, she turned away, and lifted the curtain aside to pass through.

Within the half-moon shaped room, looking out to a quiet view of the stars and moon, overlooking the mountainous region in which the castle was settled. Spread upon the plush carpet were beds lined with screens, and lying or sitting upon them were the worn-down models, in the process of becoming completely defunct. The scene never failed to give Oksana a chill as she stared into tired eyes, and prematurely graying hair, the strands falling loose. The yellow of jaundiced skin contrasted with the darker color of gangrene. She passed slowly over each, her lab coat whispering past the beds. These were the failed experiments, she recalled, or those who were too far gone, nothing more than useless lumps of flesh and metal. She carefully scrubbed at the leaking valve protruding from one man's body, while at another bed she scrubbed at a woman's mouth as the tubing of her throat expelled excess debris.

A man leaned back against his pillow, and groaned. "Doctor, I'm sorry for our inconveniencing you."

"You're not—" She glanced up from where she was draining excess oil that had built up in his right leg, swelling it, and stopped herself at his utterly pained expression

"Don't you even know my name? Do you even care?" He asked in a resigned tone of voice, "Or I am just another piece of scrap that you must deal with?"

Oksana shook her head. "This is my job. I am objective."

As if he had not acknowledged her, he continued, "My name is Pavel. My son, Rodion, was killed in the Great Patriotic War. A fire set to our village cost me my leg, and my wife. But here I am a machine." He turned, and glanced at the others who stared at the ceiling, or straight out the window. "No one cares. We were once miracles, but now we are machines."

Oksana was about to open her mouth when he shook his head at her. "Please, clean me, and go."

Tossing her lab coat into the sink, and running water that scalded her hands over it, Oksana scrubbed vigorously at the grease, and blood, trying to ignore the gray and brown stains already embedded in the coat. Staring up at the mirror, she tiredly wiped a hand over her brow, and noted the wrinkles upon her face, her vacant gaze bearing similarities to those of the patients in the Red Room. Stopping that train of thought immediately, she balled up her coat in her hands, and made a beeline for the servants' entrance, where Kamil awaited her.

Upon her reappearance, Kamil nodded his head with a small smile. "Thank you for coming to see us."

Oksana took her hat from the hook, and turned around, adjusting the bill of it. "It's my duty," she replied simply.

He shook his head, and waved his arm for emphasis. It was cut short, however, when he coughed out smoke, lurching forward into his closed fist. Swallowing, he stood back up. "We like when you visit. You are good to us. You talk to us." Oksana's face fell at that. Before she could reply, however, he jumped in to save face. "If you should need anywhere to stay in the future, we have an extra room available for you."

She smiled sadly, knowing full well that there were several extra rooms. "You're most generous, Kamil. I'll be back in two months' time. Be ready for me."

As she departed, latching the main gate to the castle behind her, Kamil smiled as he caught a streak of blue against the doctor's medical bag.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I would post some original work for a change.
> 
> This was a piece that I wrote for a literary journal. However, the piece didn't make it into that one, and it also didn't make it into another I had attempted to submit it to. I thought I would post it here, however, to share.


End file.
